Well, here we go, then. Into the last 4 weeks of my wife's pregnancy, which means that from here, we're on alert.
Everything else has sort of faded into the background. Whenever my phone rings I snatch at it, in case it's Caz ringing to say her waters have broken. If the baby kicks and she lets out an oof I leap off the sofa (and that baby can kick. I'm starting to think she might be a centaur). In my nervousness I talk to the baby a lot. Also, any mother unwise enough to bring her infant/baby into my shop had better be prepared to spend a long time listening to me blather on about how great my daughter is going to be.
I doubt they enjoy this.
But I can't stop doing it. Waiting for Izzy has become my life. People say she'll take over once she's born, and I think, what's different? She's taken over already. The bloody child already owns more clothes than I do. On my day off we found the car seat doesn't fit, so we went and bought another one, which meant ages wiffling about in Mothercare, and then more ages finding a stroller that will fit the new car seat. So much for a relaxing rest day. And the devil of it is.... I want my days off to all be like that. I'm trapped. No prison is as secure as the one you build yourself.
I've been working extra hours for Barnardo's, because I was on my own over Christmas and New Year and fell behind. Got to do the job well because we need the money for Izzy. I hardly ever go out now because the money needs to be spent on Izzy. We don't have alcohol at home, and soon won't have pop either, because we're making a healthy environment for Izzy. Caz uses steam cleaners and bleach scrubs to make the house safe for Izzy. It's ridiculous, you'd think she was the Queen of Sheba.
All of this comes as a culture shock. I'm used to living on my own, choosing my own hours, making my own decisions. Now? If I get permission to sleep I'm doing well. And this is just the start, this is nothing, compared to what I know is coming down the road... and can't wait for, so I can take the last scrap of my independence and throw it cheerily away. Told you. A prison I built myself.
Caz and I went to see The Force Awakens the other day. We're not Star Wars fans, but we thought we'd give it a try, and it's the best movie in the franchise by a distance. I mention it because I don't have a clue when we'll next be able to mosey out for the evening. Maybe in the summer. The summer of 2030, that is.
Got to go now. Caz has gone awful quiet and I'm worried...
Monday, 11 January 2016
Wednesday, 23 December 2015
Review of the Year
2015 is nearly over, and here's what you've all been waiting for. Yes, it's my now traditional review of the year.
Trouble is, I haven't watched, read or been involved with as much this year. My life's been so full that there hasn't been time. The largest part of that is that I got married, of course, one wonderful day back in August. But I also changed my job twice, ending up as a shop manager in Yeovil, which meant moving house, and all while my wife was pregnant. She still is, by the way; our daughter is due in February. Guess what the headline will be in next year's review?
But despite all these terrible hardships, I have managed to sneak off now and then for a bit of enjoyment, so here goes. Spoilers may lie ahead, so watch out.
Best film is The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2. I said last year that the first Mockingjay film was the best of the series, though taken from the worst book, and the final movie continued that. It's very cleverly done, keeping true to the novel but changing enough to make things interesting. It also makes it clearer that Coin really was a bad woman, ready to start all the old terrors again - meet the new boss, same as the old boss. A movie well worth seeing.
I liked The Martian too. It's very hard to write a story in which the main character is alone nearly all the time, because dialogue is so important. Without it you have to be clever, and the writers here pull that off. I know, I'm a sucker for good writing. I can't imagine why.
Speaking of which, the writers of Doctor Who need to either pull their fingers out or quit. Since Capaldi took over all the wit, all the subtlety has gone out of the show. It's set pieces now, dramatic incidents and gribbly monsters, but little of the sense of fun and character it used to have. No wonder viewing figures are falling.
In books, I read Iain M Banks' The Player of Games. This is, simply, brilliant. It's set in the far-future Culture, where everyone lives comfortable lives - but not in the Empire of Azad, which is brutally ruled by a power elite chosen on the basis of how successful they are in playing the game of Azad, after which the empire is named. The game is said to be so like life that success in one means sure success in the other. The Culture is trying to build diplomatic bridges to the empire, so it recruits a talented game player named Gurgeh and sends him to Azad to play. As the story develops Gurgeh begins to realise there are larger games being played than the one on the boards. His journey through all this is horrifying as much as anything, but the book is seamless, as close to a perfect piece of SF as I can remember reading.
I tried to read A Song of Ice and Fire again, too. It's my third effort to get into the books that became Game of Thrones and I can't manage it, I just can't. I know the series is more realistic than most Fantasy, I understand that it deals with moral ambiguity and the role of women in society. But it's just so dull. George R R Martin writes as though his hand is moving through treacle. The TV series might be just as good as I'm told it is - I wouldn't know - but it was taken from bad books. And really, one novel since 2005? I don't know what Martin is playing at. A writer's job is to write. One novel in the last ten years is absurd.
So, there it is. I can almost hear the shrieks of dismay already. Hopefully 2016 will include more high quality like Banks or Mockingjay, and less dreary sludge like Doctor Who or George R R Martin. And hopefully I'll be able to look away from my daughter for long enough to notice.
Have a great Christmas, everyone, and in the New Year may the Force be ever in your favour. Or something.
Trouble is, I haven't watched, read or been involved with as much this year. My life's been so full that there hasn't been time. The largest part of that is that I got married, of course, one wonderful day back in August. But I also changed my job twice, ending up as a shop manager in Yeovil, which meant moving house, and all while my wife was pregnant. She still is, by the way; our daughter is due in February. Guess what the headline will be in next year's review?
But despite all these terrible hardships, I have managed to sneak off now and then for a bit of enjoyment, so here goes. Spoilers may lie ahead, so watch out.
Best film is The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2. I said last year that the first Mockingjay film was the best of the series, though taken from the worst book, and the final movie continued that. It's very cleverly done, keeping true to the novel but changing enough to make things interesting. It also makes it clearer that Coin really was a bad woman, ready to start all the old terrors again - meet the new boss, same as the old boss. A movie well worth seeing.
I liked The Martian too. It's very hard to write a story in which the main character is alone nearly all the time, because dialogue is so important. Without it you have to be clever, and the writers here pull that off. I know, I'm a sucker for good writing. I can't imagine why.
Speaking of which, the writers of Doctor Who need to either pull their fingers out or quit. Since Capaldi took over all the wit, all the subtlety has gone out of the show. It's set pieces now, dramatic incidents and gribbly monsters, but little of the sense of fun and character it used to have. No wonder viewing figures are falling.
In books, I read Iain M Banks' The Player of Games. This is, simply, brilliant. It's set in the far-future Culture, where everyone lives comfortable lives - but not in the Empire of Azad, which is brutally ruled by a power elite chosen on the basis of how successful they are in playing the game of Azad, after which the empire is named. The game is said to be so like life that success in one means sure success in the other. The Culture is trying to build diplomatic bridges to the empire, so it recruits a talented game player named Gurgeh and sends him to Azad to play. As the story develops Gurgeh begins to realise there are larger games being played than the one on the boards. His journey through all this is horrifying as much as anything, but the book is seamless, as close to a perfect piece of SF as I can remember reading.
I tried to read A Song of Ice and Fire again, too. It's my third effort to get into the books that became Game of Thrones and I can't manage it, I just can't. I know the series is more realistic than most Fantasy, I understand that it deals with moral ambiguity and the role of women in society. But it's just so dull. George R R Martin writes as though his hand is moving through treacle. The TV series might be just as good as I'm told it is - I wouldn't know - but it was taken from bad books. And really, one novel since 2005? I don't know what Martin is playing at. A writer's job is to write. One novel in the last ten years is absurd.
So, there it is. I can almost hear the shrieks of dismay already. Hopefully 2016 will include more high quality like Banks or Mockingjay, and less dreary sludge like Doctor Who or George R R Martin. And hopefully I'll be able to look away from my daughter for long enough to notice.
Have a great Christmas, everyone, and in the New Year may the Force be ever in your favour. Or something.
Wednesday, 9 December 2015
Bloody Hard on a Man
I've now entered The Bonesmile into the open submission portal at Angry Robot. I'm usually pretty critical of my own work, veering between an occasional "This is great!" and the more frequent feeling that "This is a bit rubbish." But Bonesmile, I think, is a good book. It has two strong central characters, very different from each other, and a gaggle of other interesting people and groups too. It also has a good plot, with plenty of twists throughout. In short, a nice little adventure story, rolling along at a cracking pace.
I'm finding more time to write now. Since Caz moved down to Yeovil with me I've been able to stop driving back to Barnstaple two or three times a week. It's a 90 minute trip and that adds a lot to the day, once there and once back. Of course it's not all easy. Sometimes Caz calls out for me to come feel the baby kick and I always go, I love that.
She also just rang my mobile phone by sitting on hers. I'm not making this up. It's bloody hard on a man who's trying to work.
Still... things are easier. Hence more time to write, and I'm burrowing back into the stories again, Angry Robot's open door period is a great boon, something to focus on as I pick up the threads. There's also HarperCollins' open Wednesdays, which works the same way, and which I'll give a try tomorrow. I'm going to submit The Death of Ghosts as well, to one or the other, and probably Blessed Land too. No sense passing up an opportunity.
All this means I can't publish those books on Amazon or Smashwords, not while they're under consideration elsewhere. So I'm thinking about maybe putting out a short story, something that links to an earlier novel. Possibly to Troy, or to The Risen King; there are plenty of things left to see in the lives of Alar and his little band. But I'm not sure how they'd fit into a short format. A novel, yes, though I think Risen King has such a complete story arc it might be a shame to tinker with it. This needs thought. I'm good at thought.
But not now. I have a baby's kicks to feel, don'cha know.
I'm finding more time to write now. Since Caz moved down to Yeovil with me I've been able to stop driving back to Barnstaple two or three times a week. It's a 90 minute trip and that adds a lot to the day, once there and once back. Of course it's not all easy. Sometimes Caz calls out for me to come feel the baby kick and I always go, I love that.
She also just rang my mobile phone by sitting on hers. I'm not making this up. It's bloody hard on a man who's trying to work.
Still... things are easier. Hence more time to write, and I'm burrowing back into the stories again, Angry Robot's open door period is a great boon, something to focus on as I pick up the threads. There's also HarperCollins' open Wednesdays, which works the same way, and which I'll give a try tomorrow. I'm going to submit The Death of Ghosts as well, to one or the other, and probably Blessed Land too. No sense passing up an opportunity.
All this means I can't publish those books on Amazon or Smashwords, not while they're under consideration elsewhere. So I'm thinking about maybe putting out a short story, something that links to an earlier novel. Possibly to Troy, or to The Risen King; there are plenty of things left to see in the lives of Alar and his little band. But I'm not sure how they'd fit into a short format. A novel, yes, though I think Risen King has such a complete story arc it might be a shame to tinker with it. This needs thought. I'm good at thought.
But not now. I have a baby's kicks to feel, don'cha know.
Friday, 20 November 2015
One of Those Faces
Caz is here in Yeovil now. We moved yesterday, which meant hiring a van and driving to Barnstaple, loading it, driving back here and then unloading. And I already have tendonitis in one shoulder. I didn't whimper much (honest).
Anyway, the good news is that Caz likes the flat. We've made a start on sorting out the boxes, but can't do a whole lot because we're too short on furniture until Sunday, when a whole load is due to be delivered. The next week or so will be busy, even out of work. But at least the endless travelling to Barnstaple and back is over. Caz and I are together at our home, and things will be easier now.
We're less than three months from the birth of our daughter. Izzy kicks so hard now that we can see it, and she's started to react to certain things. She loves it when her Mummy's in the bath, she loves Billy Joel, and she goes stone bonkers when she hears her Daddy's voice. This sorta distracts me from writing... well, it distracts me from everything, to be honest. Every time she wriggles and kicks in excitement I have to go over and croon to her, I can't help myself. I take ages to write a paragraph, and when I read it back I keep expecting to find that every ninth word is baby.
Perhaps I should switch to writing soppy romances. Only not really.
I'm trying to focus through all of this, I really am. But other stuff keeps butting in too. I've found a new pool team to play for here in Yeovil, and have already been asked to be Vice-Captain, which means I help run the team, liaise with the pub and league, and so on. It's not much work, in fairness, but I've only been in this town for 5 minutes, never played a competitive match, and am already helping run a team. I must have one of those faces. They do say, if you want something done, give it to someone who's already busy.
The pool season starts in February, which also includes the Captain's Cup, which as VC I will be in. And it's when Izzy is due to take her bow. Then I'm going to be busy.
So I'd best get the submissions to Angry Robot done as soon as possible. Come the end of winter I'm not going to have time for anything. Life takes us to some unexpected places. Me, a father, and a fairly well-liked man too, it seems. Who'd have thought it?
Anyway, the good news is that Caz likes the flat. We've made a start on sorting out the boxes, but can't do a whole lot because we're too short on furniture until Sunday, when a whole load is due to be delivered. The next week or so will be busy, even out of work. But at least the endless travelling to Barnstaple and back is over. Caz and I are together at our home, and things will be easier now.
We're less than three months from the birth of our daughter. Izzy kicks so hard now that we can see it, and she's started to react to certain things. She loves it when her Mummy's in the bath, she loves Billy Joel, and she goes stone bonkers when she hears her Daddy's voice. This sorta distracts me from writing... well, it distracts me from everything, to be honest. Every time she wriggles and kicks in excitement I have to go over and croon to her, I can't help myself. I take ages to write a paragraph, and when I read it back I keep expecting to find that every ninth word is baby.
Perhaps I should switch to writing soppy romances. Only not really.
I'm trying to focus through all of this, I really am. But other stuff keeps butting in too. I've found a new pool team to play for here in Yeovil, and have already been asked to be Vice-Captain, which means I help run the team, liaise with the pub and league, and so on. It's not much work, in fairness, but I've only been in this town for 5 minutes, never played a competitive match, and am already helping run a team. I must have one of those faces. They do say, if you want something done, give it to someone who's already busy.
The pool season starts in February, which also includes the Captain's Cup, which as VC I will be in. And it's when Izzy is due to take her bow. Then I'm going to be busy.
So I'd best get the submissions to Angry Robot done as soon as possible. Come the end of winter I'm not going to have time for anything. Life takes us to some unexpected places. Me, a father, and a fairly well-liked man too, it seems. Who'd have thought it?
Wednesday, 4 November 2015
No Sense At All
I'm not doing NaNoWriMo this year, which feels a bit strange. I've only done it for the past two Novembers, but already it's become a habit, and it's weird to see people chatting about it on Fb and in the forums and not be part of that. I'd like to do it again. NaNo instils good writing habits, such as just getting on with the story and not bothering about rewrites or passages which clunk a bit. You can fix those things on the edit. Just make time to write and then do so, cheerfully leaving everything else to one side.
But I moved house last Thursday and my new flat is a mess. My wife will be joining me here in two weeks so there's a lot to do and not a huge amount of time. So, not doing NaNo. Ho hum.
Our new home is in Yeovil, where my job is. I've been with Barnardo's for two months now and am still learning new things all the time, tricks and knacks for getting the work done faster or better. In a charity shop you always have to run very fast just to stay still, like Alice in Through the Looking Glass. We don't have volunteers yet either - the shop is still new - so all of that falls on myself and my one staff member, Teresa. It's hard work, and in this new town I hardly know anyone, which puts a dampener on evenings out.
Tough world...
So guess what? I stay in and write. And a good thing too, because Angry Robot publishers have an open submissions period in December and January, during which any writer can submit any novel in the genres of "SF, F, and WTF?" as Angry Robot puts it. I'm planning to put in The Bonesmile, also Black Lord of Eagles, and perhaps The Death of Ghosts as well. The first is ready to go, the second needs work, and the third... I'm not sure. Need to ponder it awhile.
But not too long, because 2015 has been good to me. I have a wife and a child on the way, two things about which I had lost hope. In fact everything I've done this year seems to have worked. So this old cynic finds himself, rather to his surprise, feeling a tad superstitious. I'd like to get my submissions in during December, while it's still 2015, because next year might not be so kind. Utter tosh of course, complete nonsense with not a shred of reason or sense behind it... but I'm still going to do it that way.
Suppose I'm a bit of a hypocrite, really.
But I moved house last Thursday and my new flat is a mess. My wife will be joining me here in two weeks so there's a lot to do and not a huge amount of time. So, not doing NaNo. Ho hum.
Our new home is in Yeovil, where my job is. I've been with Barnardo's for two months now and am still learning new things all the time, tricks and knacks for getting the work done faster or better. In a charity shop you always have to run very fast just to stay still, like Alice in Through the Looking Glass. We don't have volunteers yet either - the shop is still new - so all of that falls on myself and my one staff member, Teresa. It's hard work, and in this new town I hardly know anyone, which puts a dampener on evenings out.
Tough world...
So guess what? I stay in and write. And a good thing too, because Angry Robot publishers have an open submissions period in December and January, during which any writer can submit any novel in the genres of "SF, F, and WTF?" as Angry Robot puts it. I'm planning to put in The Bonesmile, also Black Lord of Eagles, and perhaps The Death of Ghosts as well. The first is ready to go, the second needs work, and the third... I'm not sure. Need to ponder it awhile.
But not too long, because 2015 has been good to me. I have a wife and a child on the way, two things about which I had lost hope. In fact everything I've done this year seems to have worked. So this old cynic finds himself, rather to his surprise, feeling a tad superstitious. I'd like to get my submissions in during December, while it's still 2015, because next year might not be so kind. Utter tosh of course, complete nonsense with not a shred of reason or sense behind it... but I'm still going to do it that way.
Suppose I'm a bit of a hypocrite, really.
Monday, 19 October 2015
The Front Burner
Here in Somerset autumn is tightening its grip. Cold mornings, mist over the rivers, and the leaves are turning. If you can't be inspired in this season, maybe you're in the wrong game.
I've realised that the story of Linth and the Spirit Wood needs more research than I've currently done. A LOT more research, maybe a year's worth, before I can provide the flavour and background the story needs. The trouble is that I had an idea, halfway through volume one, which means the original trilogy/tetralogy will be followed by another series, and probably another after that - all set in the same reality, This means I need a deeper understanding of Norse myth (sigh... there are reasons, trust me) than I have at the moment. I want to pull in elements of Celtic belief as well (which I know) and possibly Finnish too (which I don't). So, as I say, a lot of reading lies ahead.
I don't really mind. Research is fun, it's like writing Fantasy in itself, because in both things I discover new worlds and beliefs, and new peoples. Besides, I can get on with another unfinished work....
I've mentioned Bone-Smile before, in these blogs. It's got a cracking central idea, of a hidden group of sorcerers who secretly control the cultures that rise and fall in their part of the world. It was taking shape well, too, before the tale of Troy nagged at my subconscious so badly that I had to quit everything else and just write it out. With that done, and Death of Ghosts now on the back burner, it's time to return to Larissa and Ameh, the Chained Dragon, and the bitter fight against the Conclave Arcana.
All I have to distract me is my new marriage, the impending birth of my daughter, moving house and doing well in my new job, Easy, eh?
I've realised that the story of Linth and the Spirit Wood needs more research than I've currently done. A LOT more research, maybe a year's worth, before I can provide the flavour and background the story needs. The trouble is that I had an idea, halfway through volume one, which means the original trilogy/tetralogy will be followed by another series, and probably another after that - all set in the same reality, This means I need a deeper understanding of Norse myth (sigh... there are reasons, trust me) than I have at the moment. I want to pull in elements of Celtic belief as well (which I know) and possibly Finnish too (which I don't). So, as I say, a lot of reading lies ahead.
I don't really mind. Research is fun, it's like writing Fantasy in itself, because in both things I discover new worlds and beliefs, and new peoples. Besides, I can get on with another unfinished work....
I've mentioned Bone-Smile before, in these blogs. It's got a cracking central idea, of a hidden group of sorcerers who secretly control the cultures that rise and fall in their part of the world. It was taking shape well, too, before the tale of Troy nagged at my subconscious so badly that I had to quit everything else and just write it out. With that done, and Death of Ghosts now on the back burner, it's time to return to Larissa and Ameh, the Chained Dragon, and the bitter fight against the Conclave Arcana.
All I have to distract me is my new marriage, the impending birth of my daughter, moving house and doing well in my new job, Easy, eh?
Sunday, 4 October 2015
Seaglass
On Thursday the 8th October, an anthology of work by North Devon authors will be launched at a public event at Boston Tea Party, in Barnstaple (7pm if you're nearby and fancy a literary kaffeeklatsch). It's called Seaglass, and the cover art is tremendously good, look at this;
and it's been brought to completion mostly by the efforts of Rebecca Alexander and Ruth Downie, published authors both.
So first of all, thanks to you both. The anthology is a chance for new writers to make themselves known, have their voices heard perhaps for the first time, which is always significant. New art enriches us all, or so I believe, whether that art be literary or visual or anything else. Reb and Ruth have given their time to others, for which I'm grateful.
Not least, natch, because my work made it in.
Which pieces? Don't be so eager. All will be revealed at the launch. I'll be among the doughty types who read from their included pieces, so come along and listen to us as we fight to read through a miasma of nerves. Standing up amidst a great clot of people is not normal for a writer, y'know. It's a bit unnerving. Give us a little room crammed with book shelves and we might not budge for a week. Give us a pedestal and a speech to read, and, well... urgh.
Learning to handle this sort of thing is, perhaps surprisingly, necessary for an author. A lot of us are proper boogers about doing the publicity but books don't advertise themselves. I've done a couple of author events at libraries and appeared on a radio show, and they're unsettling things. Having even a few dozen people listen to whatever secrets you can speak makes you suddenly afraid that your wisdom is actually foolishness and in a moment everyone will start to laugh.
But they don't, any more than people laugh when you first publish. People are more understanding, more forgiving maybe, that we tend to think. Especially than authors think, when we're shut in our cubbyholes listening to the echo of our own thoughts.
So thanks too, in advance, to anyone and everyone who comes out to Boston Tea Party on Thursday next. If you take the time to show an interest, thank you. Without you there would be no horses in this rodeo; in the end, with all art, the people who matter most are the public.
Bet that makes you feel important, eh?
and it's been brought to completion mostly by the efforts of Rebecca Alexander and Ruth Downie, published authors both.
So first of all, thanks to you both. The anthology is a chance for new writers to make themselves known, have their voices heard perhaps for the first time, which is always significant. New art enriches us all, or so I believe, whether that art be literary or visual or anything else. Reb and Ruth have given their time to others, for which I'm grateful.
Not least, natch, because my work made it in.
Which pieces? Don't be so eager. All will be revealed at the launch. I'll be among the doughty types who read from their included pieces, so come along and listen to us as we fight to read through a miasma of nerves. Standing up amidst a great clot of people is not normal for a writer, y'know. It's a bit unnerving. Give us a little room crammed with book shelves and we might not budge for a week. Give us a pedestal and a speech to read, and, well... urgh.
Learning to handle this sort of thing is, perhaps surprisingly, necessary for an author. A lot of us are proper boogers about doing the publicity but books don't advertise themselves. I've done a couple of author events at libraries and appeared on a radio show, and they're unsettling things. Having even a few dozen people listen to whatever secrets you can speak makes you suddenly afraid that your wisdom is actually foolishness and in a moment everyone will start to laugh.
But they don't, any more than people laugh when you first publish. People are more understanding, more forgiving maybe, that we tend to think. Especially than authors think, when we're shut in our cubbyholes listening to the echo of our own thoughts.
So thanks too, in advance, to anyone and everyone who comes out to Boston Tea Party on Thursday next. If you take the time to show an interest, thank you. Without you there would be no horses in this rodeo; in the end, with all art, the people who matter most are the public.
Bet that makes you feel important, eh?
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